


so bitter is [life], death is little more

by odainath



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:13:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odainath/pseuds/odainath





	so bitter is [life], death is little more

_**so bitter is [life], death is little more**_  
 **So bitter is [life], death is little more.**  
S6; doctor, river, river/doctor _(dr who)  
When they finally meet, it all goes wrong and he walks away with his lives and she's given up the rest of hers._

  


  
_"It [death] chokes you, gags you, but you have to pretend that you're doing just fine, not trembling with this fear because the end is close."_

 _Ellen Hopkins (Impulse)_

  


  
*

She spends her childhood learning of 'the doctor.' The man who can turn around armies at the mention of his name, who planned the demise of his race so he alone could travel the universe and meddle in other worlds' affairs, who was responsible for _so much_ death and destruction.

She learns the names of planets he destroyed, races he annihilated, and grows to hate this smiling man.

 _(Of course, when they finally meet, it all goes wrong and he walks away with his lives and she's given up the rest of hers.)_

  
*

  


  
_Rule 591: Some questions are better left unanswered_.

  


  
The last day of her trial is a blur of angry faces, a guilty verdict and a damning tirade from the judge. River doesn't listen, doesn't look and nearly loses her footing as she is pushed into her cell, her meagre bag of belongings thrown unceremoniously at her feet. The guards' footsteps fade and she doesn't turn around as the tardis materialises behind her.

“You knew I was here, didn't you?” the doctor says as he steps out.

She turns around, excited, but her smile falters when she looks at the doctor and sees how very _old_ his eyes are. His body is still youthful, his stance still lithe, but those eyes could only belong to an old man.

“Doctor?” she whispers and she watches as he looks to crumple, as if the weight of the world was on shoulders and he just wasn't strong enough to hold it up any more.

“I-,” he breathes and she closes the gap between them and cups his cheek in her hand.

“What's wrong?” she asks and he shakes his head and takes a step back.

“Please, _don't_ ask me anything, River,” he begs, “ _please_.”

She nods and he exhales a shaky breath before giving her a smile she _almost_ believes.

“Enough of all that! Let's go!”

  
*

Later that night, he whispers something so quietly that the only way she knows he's even opened his mouth is because the tardis is absolutely freezing and she can see his breath swirling in the air. She tightens her grip on the railing and listens closely.

“I'm so sorry, River...”

Then he sees her watching him from above and shoots her a large grin that _almost_ makes her forget what she's just seen. Questions burn but she remembers the rules, remembers the warnings, and stays silent.

*  


  


  
_Rule 87: Nothing is simple._   


  


Some nights, on board the tardis, she can pretend her life before the doctor was all a dream (or nightmare) but she doesn't sleep long enough to do that. Dream.

Her legs are tangled in the bedsheets, her smooth skin making quiet rustling sounds against the soft linen when the doctor coughs from the doorway. She jumps, startled, and sits bolt upright, the strap of her nightgown falling down to expose her shoulder. The doctor looks at her face, to the bare expanse of skin, and back again.

“I thought perhaps you should be getting back,” he says.

She tilts her head to the side, her hair falling over her shoulder, and holds his gaze.

“Why?”

He exhales a long breath and all she can see in pain etched into every line of his face. Part of her wants to turn away, pretend she can't see what's right in front of her, but she can't. Everything about this would be infinitely easier if she didn't understand him so perfectly well but they're cut from the same cloth and she sees straight through him.

“Just because,” he answers and she nods.

It's a good enough reason for the time being.

  
*

Later, the prison air-conditioning sends jets of freezing air towards them and she shivers in the cold. The doctor stands by her side, his arms folded, and she thinks that he wants to touch her.

He doesn't.

She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “You should go.”

He hovers at her side and she isn't prepared when his fingers wrap around her wrist and he pulls her close and hugs her tightly. There's _so many_ emotions in that small gesture and she finds herself clinging to him, wanting to press every inch of herself against him. He squeezes back, just for a moment, before he pulls away and runs into the tardis without a goodbye.

  
*

  


  
_Rule 64a: I will always be there if you ask_.

  


  
She doesn't realise how much of an effect he has on her until he's gone. She finds herself throwing a glass across her cell in frustration one day when her phone call to the tardis goes unanswered yet _again_. When she has a gash across her right arm and there is a pile of shattered glass on the cell floor, she thinks she would have been better to let him go, to let herself forget.

The guard gives her a disapproving scowl and trudges away, only to come back with a dustpan and brush. He opens the door to her cell and points at the glass.

“Clean it up,” he orders and she laughs in his general direction.

“Make me.”

She doesn't have time to blink before she's flat on the ground, nursing her jaw as blood spills from her split lip. The guard laughs as she glares upward and holds out the dustpan and brush again. Her eyes don't leave his as she kicks out his legs from beneath him and slams a knee into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“You. Don't. Touch. Me,” she breathes, holding him pinned to the ground.

Almost of its own accord, her hand reaches out and picks up a piece of glass. The guard cries as she trails it along his neck.

“ _River_!”

She looks up and sees the doctor at the bars of her cell, his hand out-stretched, his eyes pleading with her to _stop, please, stop_. Slowly, she lets the glass fall from her hand and rises swiftly to to her feet. On the floor, the guard still whimpers, his eyes tightly shut and all she can think is _'pathetic_.'

“Take me dancing,” she says as she walks over to the now-open cell door.

The doctor takes her by the hand, twirls her around.

“That's exactly what I had in mind.”

  
*

The doctor lies his way into a gala ball and his arms snake around her waist as she rests her forehead against his chest, content to let herself simply be held. He runs his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and she closes her eyes.

“This isn't dancing, you know, we're shuffling in a circle,” she whispers and he chuckles, his breath warm against her ear.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

“Yes, but-”

“Then its dancing, so be quiet.”

He presses his lips to her temple and pulls her even closer. Her throat tightens and it takes her a few moments to realise that she's crying; at what her life has become, at the guard's callous blow, and her tears soak through his suit jacket. He buries his face in her neck, whispers, “ _River_ ,” and it sounds like a plea. They're not even pretending to dance any more and he pushes her hair to the side and kisses her neck.

Someone gives a pointed cough next to them and the moment is broken.

  
*

  


  
  
  
_Rule 64b: (and sometimes when you don't.)_   
  
  


  


  
The next year rolls in with the sound of bombs.

River's blood spikes with adrenalin as she recognises the chant of the Headless Monks and she crosses the length of her cell and looks through the bars. The Monks move in a straight line, red light bursting from their hands. The walls collapse and debris flies through the air as they come ever-closer. The war chant thrums through the air until the prison seems to vibrate with barely-restrained energy and River works quickly to unpick the lock.

She steps into the corridor and ducks as a jet of light is fired in her direction, missing her by inches. She dives to the ground as they turn towards her and drags herself along the floor, towards a felled guard. She gasps as falling debris lands too close and a piece of rock hits her shoulder, leaving a long gash, but doesn't stop moving. The Monks are closing in as she finally reaches the guard and takes his gun. Quickly, she jumps to her feet, all-too-aware that another six monks have revealed themselves and are now moving around her in an ever-diminishing circle.

 _Keep them moving, never let your guard down._

Kavorian's words ring in her ears as she runs towards an array of destroyed wall. She can feel the heat from the light behind her and hurdles over the rubble without the aid of touching it. She rolls as soon as she lands on the ground, missing a flurry of lights that punch the very spot where she had been standing. As she raises the gun to fire in retaliation, a familiar sound rings through the air and she feels a hand wrap around her upper arm and pull her backward.

“Are you all right?” the doctor asks as he drags her into the tardis.

“Fine,” she answers, freeing herself. “I didn't call,” she says, “how did you-?”

“I didn't,” he interrupts sharply. “The tardis brought me here.”

“Oh.”

The doctor looks at her with narrowed eyes and realisation hits her.

“We've just had an argument, haven't we? Somewhere in the future?” she asks.

The doctor doesn't respond as he reaches out and runs his fingertips along her shoulder. She hisses in pain and his eyes immediately show concern and any trace of lingering anger vanish. River doesn't protest as he takes her by the hand and leads her into one of the tardis' many bathrooms but objects when he tries to sit her down on the edge of the bath.

“I can manage,” she snaps and he gives her a pointed look, eyebrow arched and all.

“Unless you've suddenly become double-jointed, River, I highly doubt that.”

She scowls but keeps quiet and simply watches as he takes out his sonic screwdriver and uses it to cut away her tattered shirt. He doesn't so much as blink as the material falls away exposing bare skin and she wonders how intimate they've been.

“What did we argue about?” she says, breaking the silence.

“Believe me, River,” he breathes, “you'll know.”

*

She grits her teeth as she tries to push down on one of the tardis levers but the ship is obstinate and, if anything, pulls the lever in the opposite direction.

“Maybe, you're flying her wrong,” the doctor comments, trying to hide his laughter.

“No,” River disagrees, giving up for the time being, “she's being stubborn.”

“Mm.”

He moves towards her and though his lips aren't moving, his voice is ringing in between her ears. River stills, her back against the console, and he pushes her hair out of her face with his long-fingered hands. And she lets him. He presses his lips softly against her own and she closes her eyes. He smells like starch and tastes like honey, and his heated skin against her own threatens to make them burst into flames. Still, when his hands dip beneath her shirt and trail over her skin, she shivers.

“We haven't done this before, have we?” he whispers in her ear.

“No.”

“We can stop-”

River's fingers twist themselves in the tail of his shirt. “Don't you dare.”

  
*

  


  
_Rule 146: Embrace the happy times_.

  


  
His hand skits over hers under the table as she leafs through the pages of the French menu, a language she never had time to learn during her childhood, her life dictated by history lessons and training and the best way to kill a man. Across from her, that same man sits and waits patiently for her to order.

“What are we doing?” she asks, closing the menu with a _'snap_.' “This feels so _domestic_.” She spits the last word as one would an obscenity and the doctor laughs, the sound ringing through the air.

“River Song,” he says, still chuckling, “we're in 26th century France, eating at what many consider to be the best restaurant in the universe after a prison get away and you call it 'domestic'?”

She grins back and squeezes his hand, though can't stop the prickling unease, the thought that something was wrong from crossing her mind.

  
*

Later, the two of them lie huddled together beneath the covers of her bed, as though weathering some unknown storm. She clings to the fabric of his shirt, letting it slide through her fingers. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close to his chest, and presses his lips to her temple.

“I need to go back, don't I?” she whispers and his grip becomes that much tighter, almost painful.

“At some point,” he answers finally.

She tilts her head to look at him, her hair rustling against the pillowcase. His eyes are squeezed shut and she reaches upward and cups his cheek, tracing small circles against his skin.

“You don't want me to,” she says softly.

“River,” he breathes, “if it were possible, I would never let you go.”

*

  


  
_Rule 371: Expect the unexpected_.

  


  
She reads through the prison's vast collection of history books and soon her cell resembles her dorm room at university. Papers and books are strewn everywhere but always at the top-right of her desk is her blue notebook, filled with scrawled notes and drawings.

“What's that?”

She turns and raises an eyebrow at the prison's governor, come down from his office yet again for another interrogation.

“A diary,” she answers.

“Full of your supposed adventures, I suppose?” he says sarcastically.

River inwardly bristles but keeps her voice level as she responds. “Perhaps.”

Then the nausea hits and she runs into the bathroom.

  
*

She catches a glimpse of herself in the prison mirror and stops short. She reaches upward, pushing back a stray strand of hair from her forehead, and her singlet stretches over her skin. Turning side-on, she examines herself, noting the dips and rises of her body. Her hand comes to rest on her stomach, flat and hard, and she finds herself imagining what it would be like to feel roundness rather than muscle. Its something she's never thought about before, never so much as _considered_ , yet now...

She blinks, splays her fingers.

“Doctor Song.”

She starts at the sound of the guard's voice and pokes her head out of the bathroom, eyebrows raised.

“I brought your meal,” he continues, holding up a dinner tray.

She begins to smile her thanks but smells the, oh god was that _fish_? and baulks. She shakes her head, one hand at her stomach, and darts back into the bathroom and to the toilet.

Outside, she hears the guard mutter _'bloody hell, not again_.'

  
*

  


  
_Rule 76: Sometimes bad things happen for no reason at all_.

  


  
The moment she wakes up she knows everything is wrong. She keeps her hand against the bright, red button, to be used only for emergencies, and focuses on her breathing as she waits for the guard. _In and out; please, god no; in-and-out; please-god-no; no no no no..._

He is painfully young, enough to call him a 'boy' and glares at her as he approaches. No doubt he's been told about her, she thinks, the woman who always seems to escape.

“What is it, Doctor Song?” he asks.

“I'm bleeding.”

The words are a little confusing and she would be embarrassed if she had any pride today, but she doesn't. He looks puzzled, then sceptical.

“Isn't that normal?” he says, and the part of her that appreciates black humour wants to laugh at his naivete.

“Not when you're pregnant.”

It's the first time she's said the words aloud. _How horribly ironic_. The guard pales as realisation hits and she's grateful when he doesn't say a word. Instead, he quickly unlocks the cell door and leads her down the hallway, a gentle hand at her shoulder that drops to the small of her back as tears begin to fall.

  
*

She's picking at her sheet when the prison doctor enters the room. She must look a sight, she thinks, all blood-shot eyes and untamed hair.

“Can I go back to my cell?” she asks.

The prison doctor leans against the edge of her bed and takes one of her hands. His eyes are kind and sympathetic behind thick-rimmed glasses and she hates him an inordinate amount.

“I think you should talk to someone, Doctor Song,” he says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

She leans back, his hand dropping onto the sheet, and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Because I'm so renowned for doing as I'm told,” she responds, cold and sarcastic.

His eyes show astonishment and then shock and then fear as he stares at her and she knows he sees a pure psychopath. He coughs and pushes himself from the bed, almost stumbling over his feet. She can see the vein in his neck pulsing, the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tries to put as much distance between them as possible and the door slams shut behind him with a loud _'bang_.'

She thinks – not for the first time – that her captors are absolute fools.

*

  


  
_Rule 7: Never run when you're scared_.

  


  
She sees the teselector momentarily distracted and makes a break for it. She barely makes it three steps before the ray hits and she screams in agony as waves of pain course through her body. Her eyes squeeze shut and she concentrates of her breathing. _In and out, in-and-out, in-and-out..._ The doctor's shouting at them to stop but River doesn't listen. She remembers Kavorian's lessons, _there's always a way out_ , and focuses on getting herself out of this mess. Another wave of pain hits but this time she doesn't scream. She grits her teeth as her eyes look around the room, looking for an escape route. They land on the table, on the machine gun she had so casually discarded.

Slowly, she begins to move and is inches away when the ray is released and she falls to the ground in a limp heap. The doctor's face shows relief and the part of her that still screams _'kill'_ wants to laugh.

 _I was never scared._

  
*

She's terrified now.

The hospital gown billows behind her as she sprints through the labyrinth of corridors. She has no destination in mind, she just knows she has to get _away_. From Stormcage, from the guards, from the nurses who look at her with such _pity_ that she wants to scream.

“Doctor Song,” a guard shouts when she skids to a halt at an open window. “There's no way out.”

She gives a bitter laugh and thinks of Kavorian's words (or were they the doctor's, or her own? She just doesn't _know_ any more.)

“There's always a way out,” she whispers and lets herself fall.

  
*

She runs. And runs and runs and runs, but of course he finds her.

“River?” he breathes; softly, softly as if he expects her to break into a million, tiny pieces.

 _(She doesn't tell him that she has tried again and again to break herself; the fall from the window would have killed anyone else.)_

She can feel his gaze burning holes through the elegant material of her dress, but she ignores it. She can't deal with _this_ , can't deal with _him_. She hears footsteps in front of her and he touches her shoulder, feather-light.

“River?” he says again and she looks up. He takes a step back as if he expects her to burst into flames.

He's young, she realises, and doesn't know anything. “Take me back,” she says, her voice smooth and cold and unemotional.

“But, River-”

“Now.”

*

  


  
_Rule 144: Fixed points cannot be re-written_.

  


  
She goes back to _that_ night (she can't bring herself to say the words, not yet) and waits in the hallway outside the hospital ward. She ducks into an alcove when she sees herself burst through the door and sprint down the corridor. Guards give chase and River slips into the ward and lies down. The sheets are still warm and she pulls them up to her chin.

Her eyes are heavy and she feels herself drifting into sleep when a voice calls through the darkness.

“Doctor Song.”

She sits upright and looks at the stranger who has appeared from thin air. He's a tall and lean man in a woollen jumper, the sleeves frayed. He brings with him the scent of cigarettes and whiskey and she feels as if she's seen him _somewhere_ before.

“Yes, you have,” he says, as if he can read her mind and her eyes narrow in suspicion and distaste. “Can I sit down?” he continues, gesturing at the hard, wooden chair by the bed.

“Suit yourself,” she responds, but he's already sat down and leans forward, his eyes intent on hers and she wants to run again. She recognises _that_ look and its too complicated to consider.

“I know what you're thinking, Doctor Song, and its not possible.”

“You have no idea what I'm thinking.”

“You're thinking that time can be re-written, that you can change the past,” he says as if she hasn't spoken. “I'm here to tell you that it isn't possible, that this is a fixed point, and that I will stop you.”

River laughs, harsh and bitter, and the sound seems to echo around them.

“I very much doubt that.”

  
*

She nearly proves him wrong.

She takes herself back to her cell over a year ago and her past self goes to the Sisters of the Infinite Schism. They fuss around her, do their best, and this time she makes it seven-and-a-half months.

Then she wakes up with her sheets soaked in blood and knows its all gone wrong.

 _Again_.

  
*

The stranger from the hospital stands beside her at the graveyard and she watches the tiny coffin being lowered into the ground.

“I truly am sorry, Doctor Song,” and she thinks he might actually mean it.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Mark Cifuentes,” he answers.

“And how many times have we met before, Mister Cifuentes?”

He laughs, bitter-sweet. “Quite a few.”

  
*

  


  
_Rule 98: To love someone is not a weakness_.

  


  
Stormcage is eerily quiet at night and its easy to forget that the guards are there at all. River stands under the shower until the water runs cold and she starts to shiver. She doesn't look around as she wraps around a towel around herself and steps into her cell, starts when she sees Mark Cifuentes sitting at the edge of her bed.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps.

He looks uneasy but his eyes linger on her body, on the curves of her hips, the rise of her breasts, a second too long. And she notices. She wants to be angry, but its been so long since anyone has really _looked_ at her and regret seems like a small price to pay for an evening of carnal pleasures to chase away the empty feeling beating away at her ribcage. And so, she reaches for the towel and lets it fall to the ground and – just like that – he's _there_.

He's not gentle with her, but only because she's rough with him. His hands squeeze her waist hard enough to leave bruises, payback for the way her nails run down his back, drawing blood. She closes her eyes as their bodies press together and other memories come to the surface.

The year 5604; Mark holds her after it happens yet again, pressing his lips to her forehead as she cries. 2198; River watches as the nurse takes her baby away. 4952; River's body heaves with dry sobs and Mark stands behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

Now, River pushes him away and reaches for the towel, holding it to her chest.

“How many times has this happened?” she asks.

Mark says nothing, just stares at the ground. River snatches up pants and a tank top and runs away into the night before he even has a chance to protest.

  
*

She's sprints through Stormcage as if the walls aren't there and skids into the street. People turn as she runs past them and she thinks she must look a sight; barely dressed with drenched hair and red eyes. Her feet pound against the footpath as she thinks of a way to get out, and away from the memories that keep surfacing after touching Mark Cifuentes' skin.

 _Time is constantly being re-written and we don't remember all of it_. The doctor's words from long ago ring in her ears and she wants to laugh (or maybe scream.)

She, a Time Human, would of course remember more than most.

  
*

Eventually, she stops running and breaks into the nearest place she can find. Its a deserted house, the surfaces coated in a thick layer of dust, but the carpet is soft enough and she lies down on the floor and stares at the ceiling. In the next room, she hears the tell-tale crackle of a vortex manipulator and she isn't surprised when Mark appears in the doorway and looks at her, his eyes full of concern and _that_.

“So, who are you exactly?” she asks as he steps inside and leans against the wall, his eyes not leaving hers.

“Mark Cifuentes, Time Agent.”

“And how many times have we had this conversation?”

He chuckles, though there is no humour in it. “I've lost count.”

“Why is this a fixed point?” she asks. “The doctor's death, I can understand. My child's death, I cannot.”

“I'm not sure,” he says, “I don't have clearance for that information.”

River rolls her eyes, unimpressed, and sits upright. “You love me,” she says, and its not a question.

“Yes,” he answers anyway.

“Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder and looks briefly at the ceiling. “I don't know,” he admits, “I wish to god that I didn't.”

River nods as she rises to her feet. “I'll make my own way back.” She pauses in front of him, and looks upward. “Have I ever loved you?” she asks.

Mark exhales a long breath. “In your own way, I think you may have.”

River places her hand on his shoulder and he looks at her as if he is torn between running away and drawing her close.

“Then I'm very sorry.”

*

  


  
_Rule 53: Revenge is rarely worth the trouble_.

  


  
She examines herself in the harsh light of the prison bathroom. Already, her bare arms have the mottled flush of cold though the fine hairs there are yet to prick with shivering. Her hair is matted, her skin covered in dirt and dried blood. She raises her hand and touches her collarbone, tracing the outline of a deep cut; Kavorian's final, desperate bid for freedom.

“River?”

She starts, jolted back into the present, and watches in the glass as the doctor approaches, his hands hovering inches above her bare shoulders.

“I'm not sorry,” she says and he closes his eyes.

“River, Rule 53...”

She makes a noise in her throat, interrupting him before the lecture can truly begin, and heads toward the shower. She turns on the tap and soon the sound of running water fills the small room. The doctor leaves when she strips and she steps beneath the shower and tilts her face upward, letting the water rinse away the blood and grime.

Her eyes clench shut as she remembers Kavorian, remembers her screams, remembers her pleas.

 _(More clearly, she remembers the blood, her baby and the tiny coffin being lowered into the ground.)_

  
*

The doctor's waiting for her when she enters her cell, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. She can feel the tension flowing from him in waves; anger and worry and disgust all at once. _So young_ , she thinks, _so so young_.

“Surely, you know that I can't condone this?” he says after a pause.

“I'm not asking you to _'condone'_ anything,” she responds sarcastically, annoyed at his tone.

She throws her hair behind her shoulder and moves across the cell until she is barely two feet away. The doctor bristles, still angry and she smirks as she reaches out and straightens his bow tie.

“Did you know that you're no better than me?”

His eyes narrow as he pushes himself from the wall and moves around her, increasing the space between them, but he says nothing.

“I killed Madame Kavorian because she took away my childhood, my choices, and would have no hesitation in doing so again. But _you_ , doctor, _you've_ destroyed whole cities-”

“For the greater good,” he interrupts and she gives a bitter chuckle.

“And when did you become judge and jury? Other than the fact that I admit what it is I do, I fail to see how you're any different than me.”

He doesn't respond as he storms past her and into the tardis, slamming the door shut behind him.

  
*

  


  
_Rule 43:  You're not allowed to look inside the book_.

  


  
After _it_ , she thinks, perhaps it would have been more sensible to run and never come back. Instead, she finds herself once again on the tardis, rolling her eyes as the doctor hits the wrong control at the wrong time and she laughs. The problem is, she's not feeling much of anything any more and it rings harsh and loud, jarring to the ears. The doctor notices but says nothing, though she can feel the concern in his eyes and feels suffocated.

“River?” he says, and she realises he's been trying to get her attention.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, nothing,” he mutters.

River waits, knowing he wants to say something further, but he doesn't.

“I'm going to bed,” she says and walks away.

*

She's towelling her hair when she walks into her bedroom and sees him leafing through the pages of her diary. He's pale and she sees a faint tremble in his hand as he reads.

“Doctor,” she snarls and he spins around, his eyes wide. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“You weren't … _you_ ,” he splutters, “what else could I do?”

“What you usually do. Run away,” she snaps and he takes a step back as if her words were a physical blow.

“River, I _love_ you,” he says.

 _(She can't help but appreciate the irony. In the past, she prayed for him to say those words. Now, they don't seem to really matter.)_

*

She finds him later beneath the tardis console, his knees tucked into his chest like a child. The doctor's intellect and experience has made him very good at deceiving people and she has never seen him like this, utterly destroyed. It makes her stop short, her stomach wrenching in a way it hasn't done in a long while, to see his barriers, his armour so laboriously built – totally shattered.

“It's ironic,” he says, and if she were human, should would have jumped, “part of me thinks this was inevitable. Of everyone in my life, you were always going to hurt me the most.”

She doesn't know what to say. _'I'm sorry_ ,' seems trite and she merely looks at him as he gets to his feet. He takes three long strides until he is directly in front of her and she sees anger beneath the pain. Fury at _her_ and she finds herself bristling; she has always been one to respond to another's anger in turn.

“Believe me, it was unintentional,” she snaps.

His eyes flash and he releases a shaky breath, holding back. “Don't you _dare_ be flippant, River.”

“Flippant?” she snarls. “I have changed entire _timelines_ trying to stop this!”

“And I could have _helped_!” the doctor shouts, apoplectic.

“And broken one of your _rules_?” River sneers. “Don't be so ridiculous!”

“Rules can be broken!”

Her hand whips across his face before she realises its happened, leaving a bright red hand-print. “Now, who's being flippant?” she whispers.

She leaves him beneath the console, dabbing blood away with a handkerchief.

  
*

  


  
_Rule 197: Accept that which cannot be changed_.

  


  
She wakes with the doctor's arms tight around her waist. Her head is tucked beneath his chin, her cheek on his chest. The pillow, she realises, is damp from his tears and she wonders just how long he's been there. He seems almost peaceful, and she closes her own eyes and allows herself to be held.

“You awake?” he murmurs and she nods, not bothering with words. “I'm sorry that I yelled at you.”

She laughs softly. “I'm sorry that I slapped you.”

He takes one of her hands in his and squeezes.

  
*

Soon, she falls asleep again and wakes to him shaking her shoulder.

“Come on,” he whispers and she looks up at him with bleary eyes. “I want to show you something.”

He takes her outside, never letting go of her hand. Around her, high towers break the skyline, impossibly tall, and her breath catches. The doctor spins her around and pulls her to him, one of his hand clasping hers, the other at her waist. In the past (a long, long time ago) she would have laughed but its here and now so she merely looks at him. His face is stoic, but she sees how his jaw is clenched, sees the tension in his shoulders.

“What are we doing?” she asks, breaking the long silence.

“Dancing.”

“There's no music,” she points out.

As if on cue, sound erupts, a symphony written only for them. The doctor's grip is almost painful at her waist and she's sure that he's left bruises. She doesn't care and closes her eyes as he buries his face in his neck and whispers, “ _River_.” She's taken back to another time; to a gala ball, and realises that _this_ doctor had been there that night.

“We're not dancing,” she points out, for old times' sake.

“Shh,” he breathes, “just be quiet.”

  
*

She hovers outside his bedroom, unsure of exactly what it is she's doing there. He opens the door before she has a chance to knock, like he was expecting her, like he knew she would be there. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and she realises that he's been running through time, trying to change the past much like she did.

She wonders, when they touch, how many new memories she'll have.

“Part of me still wants to change everything,” she tells him.

“I know.”

“But we can't, neither of us can,” she continues, hating how her voice breaks mid-sentence.

The doctor pulls her inside and she almost stumbles. He pushes the hair out of her face, his other hand falling to her waist, pulling her close. His fingertips ghost along her jawline, so _so_ softly as if he's trying not to break her, like he knows she could shatter into a million tiny pieces.

“ _I'm sorry, River_.”

*

  


  
**Disclaimer** : I do not own Dr Who. It is the property of the BBC. Title of this story is taken from Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy. Spoilers for seasons 4 – 6. This fic was meant to be a short piece but at some point words got added, angst was piled on, even more head!canon was discovered and this is the result.


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